Bad Blood

No Blood Left

He's been sitting there for neary an hour, not once taking his eyes off the window. I stand as tall as I can, the skin on my wrists still red and stinging. I vaguely recognize him- the boy next door- but I'm sure he's just as confused as I am. 

"What are you doing here?" He asks eventually, edging closer to the small window. 

"I live here. I should ask you the same question," I make the effort to hide my teeth, unknowing that my face is still covered in my own blood. 

"I live next door. Are you okay...?" he reaches a careful hand closer to the window, and I desperately want to reach out and grab it. He kneels next to the window, looking in with frightened eyes. 

"That looks like a prison cell," he sighs after a few minutes, lost in thought, "....you're Byron Withersby's son, aren't you? You were never really dead?" I nod, and he backs away, looking around like a startled animal. I know the feeling. 

"Why is he keeping you down there?" he asks the question on everyone's minds, and even I can't come up with a good answer. After a minute of silence, he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a screwdriver. "I'll get you out of there, alright? Don't worry about it," he mumbles, stabbing the end of the screwdriver into the ground under the window. After a few minutes of prying, he finally suggests, "push the bars out". 

I push my palms against the bars with all of my stregnth, and the searing pain rips through my arms. I let out a sharp cry, but the metal is coming loose, and stopping now would be the single dumbest thing I could think of. I push until the bars are no longer bracing the window, and pull my hands to my chest, the hot sting of tears biting at my eyes. 

it's over. 

((a.n: Sam's out! the next few chapters are going to be strongly based on Sam adjusting to the world, and probably pretty short. I'm sorry this chapter is mostly dialog, but this was kind of long due))